Örland
by excusemeb
Summary: Unbeknownst to them, Eric and Pam share a dream. Rated for language. Happy Valentine's Day to my fellow E/P fans! :*
1. Hell

_**A/N:**_

**I was inspired to write this after reading Lady Dudley's story, "Cookies?", because it left me wondering what Pam's nightmares might consist of.**

**I've never written anything for this site before, so I hope that it's well received, especially by my fellow E/P shippers. Please feel free to review, comment, and/or PM me. Thank you for reading! :D**

**This is prior to the Great Revelation, based mostly on TB Eric and Pam, and (obviously) pre-Bon Temps. In fact, I'd like to think that this nightmare is probably the entire reason they left Eric's farm on Örland, Sweden - at Pam's behest, of course.**

**Oh, and one last thing - last, but **_**certainly **_**not least - I'd like to thank the incomparable Lady Dudley for her inspiration and much-appreciated advice. She is an extraordinary writer, and if you are not yet familiar with her stories you should check them out. All of them. Right now. They're absolutely fantastic! :)**

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

**Hell**

Pam wakes up and is instantly nervous because it's morning and she's not underground.

She quickly calms though because she knows that Eric is near by his scent and as far as she can tell they're indoors.

The room looks like the interior of a long wood and mud dwelling with a smoldering fire pit in the center. There are reed mats and animal furs strewn about the benches surrounding the walls and dirt floor. The sturdy wooden door - she wonders how Eric managed to stoop low enough to fit under that lintel - is halfway open allowing the soft, clear light of early morning to peek across the threshold; outside sheep are bleating. It appears that the house is buried partially underground by the way the door is situated with a few short stone steps leading up to the grassy yard above.

_Great_, she thinks, _what kind of hovel did he drag me to now? As if our farm on that windy s**thole isn't torture enough now he has me (barely) holed up in some rustic shed?_

The truth is she would go anywhere and do anything - _die_, even - just to be near him, just to please him... anything to earn that smile of his.

She would follow him straight to Hell if he asked her.

To his credit, Eric had given in to her incessant complaints and upgraded the house on Örland. _Too bad he didn't use the money to move them somewhere else_, she thought. _Why couldn't we just go back to Paris? Hell, if he wanted to own a farm near the sea why not something in a tropical locale instead, say, Barbados?_ She could easily see herself in a pale pink villa surrounded by lush gardens and luscious, exotic fruits - and she wasn't thinking about mangoes or bananas either. Well, she _was_, but not by standard definitions.

Eric turns to her and draws her closer to him for a kiss, but something is not quite right: he's so...warm. She's surprised she can feel as much through the bulky, crude shift she's apparently clothed in, which feels like burlap for goodness sake. Why on _earth_ would she ever be caught (un)dead in something like that?

If this is his idea of a joke she's failing to see the humor in it.

Animal furs blanket them: coarse, fragrant (and certainly not in a pleasant sense) furs. _Hmmm_. She thought she'd quelled Eric's propensity toward some of his more irritating Viking habits (e.g., his insistence upon using filthy pelts as bed coverings) through her superior taste in interior design. She'd have to make it a point to rid the house of these things as soon as possible.

No worries. As always, Eric's deep pockets would be more than happy to take on the burden of her new wardrobe requirements as well as the redecorating. There is nothing he would deny her.

Then again, exactly where were they? They obviously weren't home. And why was she waking up at dawn instead of dusk?

Suddenly, she hears the babble of children nearby. She considers making them an early, or rather, a late snack, but the light is increasing rapidly outside and, disturbingly, her fangs don't descend. In fact, she can't drop fang at all. Out of everything that has transpired in the minutes since her waking this realization scares her the most and as she takes in stertorous breaths (_why_ is she having to breathe?) her labored breathing wakes Eric fully this time.

"Is our little bundle of joy causing you grief again, my darling?" Eric inquires.

_Wait._

_WHAT?_

_What the _hell _is he talking about?_

He gently touches her stomach as he leans closer and chides the child inside for giving his mother such a tough time. Pam looks down to see her normally trim midsection, swollen with the gift of new life, stretching that awful burlap sack she is wearing to its limit.

As if on cue, three young boys, aged approximately three to ten years, each possessing pale blond hair looking for all the world like teacup-sized Eric Northmans, shove the heavy entrance door wide open as they barrel down the steps into the house where they proceed to catapult their wiry, grime-covered frames upon the bed clamoring, "Mother, we're hungry! What's for breakfast?"

From somewhere nearby, likely enswathed in a similar mound of dead animal skin and fur, the piercing cry of yet another child erupts.

Horrified, she looks to her right searching for Eric's comfort, but is only greeted by his besotted expression. Under different circumstances she would have been flattered to see that look in his eyes. However, at this moment it was the last thing she wanted to see, and if she weren't so stunned she would have smacked that simple smile right off his face.

Dear. God.

She never believed all of that drama perpetuated throughout the ages by religious zealots and self-hating members of their race alike who insisted that vampires were damned, but apparently she had met the True Death and been promptly sentenced to Hell.


	2. Pastels

Sitting bolt upright faster than the blink of an eye with her fangs bared and a hiss for good measure, Pam's hands and eyes immediately assess her torso, which - to her massive relief - is not convex.

Their next destination is Eric who is lying next to her stretched out in all his godlike, Nordic glory, dead for the day with a look of peaceful bliss plastered on his handsome features. That tranquility is short lived, however, as she swiftly - and none too gently - socks him square in the chest. She instantly feels a little better.

"Pam! What is the meaning of this?" Eric roars as he sits up and reaches out to hold her arms by her sides lest she feel the need for further violence.

"I had a bad dream," she deadpans.

"You have a strange way of seeking comfort from such disturbances," he retorts with brow furrowed in irritation over her comportment.

"It was the worst thing you could ever imagine. Well, maybe not you, but it was certainly not something I would ever _willingly_ endure."

"What happened?" Eric asks as his tone, features, and grip soften simultaneously at the look of sheer horror plastered on his progeny's pretty face as she recalled her terrible dream. "Tell me about it, Hasi."

"Never mind," Pam responds. She looks away briefly as she quickly regains her composure while shaking the remnants of the frightening nightmare from her mind's eye. "Bottom line: we need a change of scenery and _fast_. Let's leave at dusk. _Please_?" Her eyes meet his with a look of urgency, and do not leave them again. "I don't care where we go, but I don't want to stay on this island any longer. It's toxic."

Taking advantage of his thoughtful silence she continues with an air of confidence, "Actually, I've been thinking of a different kind of island life lately. What are your thoughts on the Caribbean? They've got fantastic, sprawling, pastel-painted plantation beach villas there. _Pastels_, Eric. You know I absolutely _adore_ pastels, and I've always wanted a pink - no, lavender - house; it _is_ my favorite color."

**A/N: **

**According to Lady Dudley (in Ch 7 of her fantastic angst fest, "Deep Purple"), " '**_**Hasi**_**' is a German term of endearment (lit. trans. = 'Bunny'), apparently it has quite sugary-sweet overtones, but I thought it would be appropriate." It's one of my favorite pet names that she's used for E/P, so I've included it here (thanks, Lady D :)**


	3. Heaven

**A/N: A look at things from Eric's perspective. I'll apologize in advance for getting the song stuck in your head; it was playing in the background while I was writing, and quickly found itself on the page. :P **

**I own nothing.**

_Baby, you're all that I want when you're lying here in my arms._

_I'm finding it hard to believe, we're in heaven._

_And love is all that I need, and I found it there in your heart._

_It isn't too hard to see we're in heaven._

_You're all that I want._

_You're all that I need._

_"Heaven" by Bryan Adams_

**Heaven**

I woke up just before dawn.

There was a slight breeze bringing the scent of dew-kissed grass and springtime inside.

I smiled to myself; the boys must have left the door open again. Pam would surely be calling out to them soon to chide their carelessness. She was constantly chasing after the toddler, and those rascals weren't helping the situation by leaving temptation open to him.

_Ah, Pam._ My love.

I could hear her breathing softly next to me, still asleep. That's good. She needs the rest.

This most recent pregnancy was wreaking havoc on her beautiful body. She insisted that it was because she was forced (_Forced_? _Ha!_ _If memory serves, she seemed very willing at the time..._) to bear the burden of yet another son of mine. I don't agree. In fact, I'm certain that this is the darling girl we've both been secretly yearning for (secretly because it's not befitting a Viking king to pine for such things), and that Pam must be pouring so much of herself into our little gem that it's taking its toll on her. If our daughter is even the slightest fraction as breathtaking as her mother she'll be the most beautiful child in the world.

Peering over the edge of the raised platform of our bed I could see our youngest son, not quite two years old, sleeping contentedly in a cocoon of soft furs nestled in the cradle nearby. Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, I turned back to gaze upon my beautiful wife while she slept. Her long, golden hair lay in soft waves, framing her gorgeous face like the halo of some fallen angel. By the gods, she was the most perfect creature in existence. For what was probably the ten billionth time, I thanked them that they saw fit that she should be mine. I wanted to touch her, and pull her close so that I could hold her, but I didn't want to disturb her now that she was finally able to rest. Besides, the boys would be interrupting her peace and quiet soon enough. You'd think we never fed them the way they constantly demanded food.

Suddenly, her breathing changed.

She was probably uncomfortable and cramping again. It always pained me to see her suffer even the slightest bit. I'm not sure who would be more relieved once this child decided to grace us with her presence, me or Pam.

Her eyes began to flutter open, and after a moment of looking at the ceiling with a curious expression, she turned her face toward the half open door.

Uh oh. Here it comes. Those boys are in for it now.

She never said anything though, she just lie there pensively, so I seized my opportunity and pulled her close to me. It's terribly unfortunate that she's wearing that awful, restrictive frock again. I've tried convincing her countless times that I'm more than enough to keep her warm at night, not to mention all of the wonderful pelts I've brought home, but she keeps arguing with me about modesty in front of the children or some other such nonsense. I settled for simply kissing her mouth gently, then prepared to doze off for a bit with her in my arms.

Not much time passed before I heard the boys scuffling around outside. I was sure she'd call for them this time, but instead she started drawing in quick, short breaths - practically gasping - it scared the hell out of me. I sat up partially to comfort her.

"_Is our little bundle of joy causing you grief again, my darling?_" I asked her quietly as my hands reached for the precious bean.

"_Are you interrupting your mother's beauty sleep again, small one? You'll have plenty of time for that nonsense once you've arrived, you know? You should let us all rest a while longer. We could use it this morning._"

Interesting, from the look that crossed her pretty face the instant I asked that initial question (her eyes snapped downward, widened in surprise, and her eyebrow raised up), you'd think she didn't know that we were expecting again. Peculiar.

Just at that moment the boys came running in through the door and the din accompanying their entrance woke the youngest. The shock of it affected Pam further, and froze her features in what can only be described as an expression of horror. I'm not sure why this morning seems different to her from any other since most of our days begin this way now (not that I'm complaining).

As our children clamber atop the bed, wailing at Pam to fix them something to eat, I can't help but admire how much they resemble her with their fair hair and beautiful faces.

Then it hit me.

A sharp pain in the center of my chest.

Oh, no. I _knew_ that this was too good to last. I'm not ready to leave Heaven yet.

_Please. _


	4. För alltid

OUCH! What the...

Pam.

Well, if I'm to be torn away from my favorite dream, at least it's for her. I wonder what's wrong? When she wants... _attention_ she usually garners it by behaving in a much different manner.

"Pam! What is the meaning of this?" I ask as I hold her arms at her sides to deter any further violent outbursts. For someone with such a slight build she packs quite a punch. My ego swelled a bit at the thought of how well I had trained her, but I digress.

"I had a bad dream," she explains, sounding completely bored in spite of the feelings of anxiety I can still feel roiling throughout our bond.

_Pam had a nightmare? Peculiar. What exactly would her nightmares consist of? Her favorite designer closing up shop? Ruining her favorite pumps? Actually, I already knew the answer to that. Several hunting trips undertaken without giving her ample opportunity to dress for the occasion had resulted in my wallet feeling a great deal lighter the following day. Perhaps the improper pairing of vintage Cartier accessories with certain outfits? Tough to tell._

"You have a strange way of seeking comfort from such disturbances," I quip in an attempt to lighten the mood and cease the tumult still raging in her - our - blood.

"It was the worst thing you could ever imagine. Well, maybe not you, but it was certainly not something I would ever _willingly_ endure."

_Wow. She seems genuinely shaken. _

"What happened? Tell me about it, Hasi." I inquire using one of her favorite terms of endearment in a futile effort to calm her as my eyes search her own for the explanation she's not willing to give.

She rolls her eyes to the side in order to escape my gaze, pursing her lips into a smirk, and responds bluntly, "Never mind. Bottom line: we need a change of scenery and _fast_. Let's leave at dusk. _Please_?" She looks back up at me, her eyes pleading. "I don't care where we go, but I don't want to stay on this island any longer. It's toxic."

_Please? _I was unaware that word was even in her vocabulary. _And what's this? She wants to leave Örland? _I thought she was enjoying our time back here; I know I've been.

Hell, I'd even made improvements - expensive ones - to the house in order to end her incessant whining over missing our Parisian apartment and the modern luxuries it held. I don't get it. It seemed so crowded there despite the nearly 3,000 square feet of living space it afforded us, and this place, well, it's liberating.

I love (un)living here, even more so with her as my companion. It reminds me of when I first turned her. I brought her back to Sweden for a brief time because it was quiet and uncomplicated here. Quaint. There wasn't much here in the way of temptation, so it was easier (for both of us) to help her learn to control her new instincts, which made molding her into the most perfect vampire child who ever existed (aside from myself, _obviously_) a relatively simple task.

While she was, and still is, lazy at times, she was never disobedient. She always aimed to please and consistently hit her mark - still does - she's my pride and joy. Best of all, I had her all to myself. She was mine. She _is___mine. För alltid.

It brings to mind my human life when I was married with children and lived simply. This place is magical. Perhaps that explains why I've been having the dreamso often.

My favorite dream.

If I could choose my heaven it would be that dream.

I've never wanted anything more than forever with my darling, Pam, but if we could live, _truly_ live, I would never ask for another thing. I think that's what brings the dream back day after day. I want to feel her warmth, keep her safe, and see her beauty live on in our children, but most of all, I want to revel in her happiness night _and_ day by giving her everything her heart desires.

Her familiar cadence interrupts my reverie.

"Actually, I've been thinking of a different kind of island life lately. What are your thoughts on the Caribbean? They've got fantastic, sprawling, pastel-painted plantation beach villas there. _Pastels_, Eric. You know I absolutely _adore_ pastels, and I've always wanted a pink - no, lavender - house; it _is_ my favorite color."

_The tropics? Oh great, she's back on that kick again. _

Virtually equal amounts of night and day all year round. I've tried explaining to her many times that it's far easier for us to exist in these northern climes because of the longer nights they grant us at certain times during the year. She was still so young and wanted - needed - to experience so much. Perhaps she had a point. Change was good. If nothing else, we'd acquire some interesting new tastes; Pam always did enjoy variety in her diet.

It doesn't matter where we go as long as she's by my side. My love for her is immeasurable. I would do anything and go anywhere for her. Even the bloody tropics. Besides, she's always looked stunning in pastels.

There is nothing I would ever deny her.

That being said, I'd be a wise man to keep that little chestnut to myself.

**A/N: According to Google Translate, **_**för alltid **_**means **_**forever **_**or **_**for keeps**_**. My apologies to any Swedish readers for butchering their beautiful language as that is not my intent. Please keep in mind that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. :)**


End file.
